


Double Denim

by Ragga



Series: Steter Week 2k17 [6]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Post-Apocalypse, Anchors, M/M, Steter Week 2017
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-29
Updated: 2017-11-29
Packaged: 2019-02-08 08:45:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12860979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ragga/pseuds/Ragga
Summary: “I will drown for you, Stiles.”“You’re the only thing holding me up, Peter.”





	Double Denim

**Author's Note:**

> (It's still Wednesday where I live... barely, but it is!)
> 
> Day 6 :D I will tackle soulmates at some point in the future if/when I have the perfect idea. For now, have some anchors :')

They were lying in their bed, watching through the blinds as the sun rose. The light filled the room slowly, inch by inch, until the whole room was bathed in the soft light. It was peaceful, quiet in a way that suggested nothing was wrong, except for how unnatural the silence was. Stiles watched Peter’s chest rise with every breath he took, calm and controlled, just like his heartbeat. Ah. His heartbeat. Stiles closed his eyes as he took in the serenity of it all.

Peter tightened his hold on him before relaxing. He didn’t let go of Stiles, no. No, he just rolled over him, kissing him softly on his awaiting lips. It was gentle, soft, just like the morning light. Bringing in another day. There, lying under Peter, Stiles felt coveted and safe. It was his haven, being held tightly by the strength his own body lacked despite the years of running and running and running and never stopping-

Except for this.

For Peter.

“Hey,” Stiles murmured against the mouth that promised both his doom and salvation. He watched as the mouth curved into a genuine smile, something Stiles still couldn’t help but marvel. It was a treasure, his treasure, and he knew for certain that it was something only the privileged had ever seen. He knew even better that the number of those privileged was as great as one. He took pride in that, being the only person to see what no one else could, the only person to admire the one with so much potential to be so fiercely gentle under all that duty and power.

“Morning,” Peter said back, diving in for another kiss. It was rougher than the one before, tasting of want and intent. It was a heady thing, and Stiles moaned. He pulled Peter ever closer and-

And before the moment could grow more heated, there was a crash downstairs. It was followed by low groaning noises and heavy dragging steps, loud in the otherwise silent world.

Their eyes met then, sharing a resigned and exhausted look at having their morning interrupted yet again. It had been less frequent nowadays since there was almost no one left to wander but sometimes-

The blue in Peter’s eyes was pronounced in the morning light, Stiles noted absently. When others had often described the colour akin to ice, cold and uncaring and ready to break under them, betray the ground they walked on, Stiles had always thought it more like the sky during winter; hard and unforgiving but capable of so much warmth. It was just that in Beacon Hills, the town deeply rooted in California, the people could never learn to love the new beginnings Peter could bring. The habits were just too deeply ingrained in them, their vices strangling them until no breath was left in their wretched, torn lungs.

Which is why the only ones alive were those who knew how to adapt.

“Which one do you think found us now?” Stiles asked. He stretched, arms easily escaping Peter’s hold, tilting his head tantalisingly. He knew that the seductive arch spoke to Peter in ways that could have once scandalised their whole town.

“Isaac and Kira are accounted for, as is Melissa and the rest of the- humans. I wonder, could Derek have made it back here? To my knowledge, Cora’s trek back from Argentina should still take at least a few months more.”

“They were werewolves, Peter,” Stiles reminded him gently. “If they- They might not follow the standard. We saw that with Lydia and Jackson, and when Malia came at us. She moved so quickly, so mindlessly, that she got me.”

Peter’s hold on him convulsed for barely a second. “And she had to pass her father to go after her ex. I could feel the love, right here.”

Stiles laughed softly. In this world, every noise was soft and sweet unless they wanted to attract unwanted attention. The shuffling sound got closer still, although the stairs were blocked and the upstairs thus safe from unwanted visitors. Peter sighed again, rolling his shoulders.

“It’s Deaton.”

Stiles blinked in surprise. “Really. That was unexpected. He never really cared much about either of us.”

“Perhaps there’s no one else left. It _is_ the end of the world.”

“Don’t I feel special. The only time he deigns to bask in my presence, it’s because the world’s ending.”

“Druid to the end. Do you want to do the honours?”

Stiles hummed, but shook his head. He may have once been angry, eager to show the druid his place, but there was none of that left anymore. He had no more fucks to give. Peter nodded, reaching to press a kiss to Stiles’ mouth before he rose from the bed and stretched. Stiles watched him, low heat spreading in his stomach, eyes lidded.

“Remember the battle armour,” he said as he spread over the sheets. He inhaled the scent of the two of them, together, never separated. It brought a smile to his face as he luxuriated in the scent.

“Ugh,” was the only answer he got as Peter stared at the heap on the floor. Disgust couldn’t describe his expression enough, no; it was pure loathing. Stiles’ smile slowly turned into a smirk.

“Come on,” he cajoled. “It’s only denim.”

“It’s double denim,” Peter said, glaring at the offending clothes. Still, he picked up the stained blue jeans and jacket, slipping them on with mumbled curses. Stiles rolled his eyes.

“It’s the end of the world, Peter. No one cares for fashion anymore.”

“This faux pas is the true apocalypse,” Peter sniffed. He straightened the jacket after he buttoned it up, grabbing a pair of gloves as well and Stiles’ bat.

The funny thing about the risen was that they were just living dead version of the people they once were. Humans, such as Deaton, never grew monster teeth or nails, and ripping through denim proved somehow harder than leather. Naturally all things supernatural required more effort to protect from but they were, thankfully, the minority by far. They were still enough of a threat, all of them, that no one was ever left without scars to prove their survival.

Which is where the denim came up.

Despite the harsh use and dirt, the clothes were still form-fitting enough for Stiles to admire the muscles now hidden underneath.

“Don’t worry,” he cooed, eyes lingering on the impressive neckline he could see peek from the top left unbuttoned. “You still look good, no matter how many bloodstains you wear.”

Peter sent him a wicked smirk which soon turned fond and so very dear to Stiles.

“I will drown for you, Stiles.”

“You’re the only thing holding me up, Peter.”

There might not be any room for words of love anymore, it might be the end of the world, but neither of them was alone in any shape of the word.

And that was more precious than anything left in this rotten world.

“Now hurry back, I still want my lazy morning. Or morning sex. Or both. Yeah, both is good. I want both. Peter? _Both_.”

“Yes, dear.”

***

When Peter left, Stiles lied still, listening to the groans coming to a sudden end with a swift crack. The only thing left were the quiet sounds of a body being disposed. He lifted one of his arms, reaching towards the ceiling, eyes trailing the unblemished skin exposed.

A smile spread on his lips, pain twisting the corners downwards.

Soon.

**Author's Note:**

> I'd love to hear your thoughts if you have the time to spare :)


End file.
